Age of Heroes
by skag trendy
Summary: Dean sometimes wishes Sam's heart wasn't so damn big. Set Season 1, just after Hell House. Hurt Sam/Protective Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Age of Heroes.**

Dean sometimes wishes Sam's heart wasn't so damn big.

Set Season 1, just after Hell House.

No real plot, just a trip down memory lane for the brothers.

Treat all medical facts with a pinch of rock salt, and ignore any holes in the story, 'cos this is just a very poor excuse for some Hurt Sam with Protective Big Brother Dean.

Sorry I've been off the scene for a bit. I've had loads of plot bunnies hopping round my head but I'm struggling to keep up with them all. Gotta love depression and generalised anxiety, eh? Nothing like a scatty brain to keep you from the keyboard.

Enjoy!

Title blatantly half-inched from the film of the same name, starring Danny Dyer and Sean Bean.

_**Warnings: bad language, violence, schmoop, not necessarily in that order.**_

* * *

**Chapter One.**

Dean yawned wider than the Grand Canyon and strolled casually from the bathroom. The towel round his waist slipped a little, and he made a half-hearted attempted at saving his dignity before shrugging and letting it fall.

After all, dignity was no fun. No fun at all.

Angelica, Angelina, or whatever her name was, had left sometime during the early hours, leaving behind the faint, sickly, sweet odour of her cheap perfume.

Dean wrinkled his nose and grimaced. Lucky he'd been too drunk to notice or he might've hurled all over her sumptuous breasts.

Or choked on his own vomit.

'_Cos man! Could that girl ride!_

Flipping the TV remote into the air in one smooth move, he turned on the TV and made his way over to the window. It was still fairly early, no one was likely to be walking by, so he shamelessly yanked aside the curtains and threw open one pane.

The perfume began to fade almost immediately and so Dean, eyes closed in bliss as his naked body worshipped the early morning sun, breathed in a deep lungful of fresh air.

Then he opened his eyes.

Sam had been clambering out of the rear seat of the Impala, his bedroom for the night in wake of Dean's 'visitor', but he stopped dead and stared in horror at the sight of his brother-au-naturelle gazing out of the motel room window.

'_Dude!'_ Sam mouthed in disgust and waved frantically. '_Cover yourself up!'_

Dean's grin was slow and wide like a Cheshire cat on some high class weed.

Oh boy. Sammy was so easy.

'_What?' _he mouthed back and shrugged, with all the innocence of a vestal virgin.

Sam looked round and about, flushing red with embarrassment, then stormed over and slammed open the motel room door. Once inside, he slammed it shut again.

"Dean, are you _trying_ to draw attention to us?" demanded Sam, bitch-face firmly planted and likely to put down roots at this rate.

Dean's grin widened further, if at all possible.

"Just letting the air circulate, Sammy," then he mock pouted. "I'm sorry." The eyebrows dipped in feigned sympathy. "Am I making you jealous little bro?"

Sam snorted at that. "You're forgetting what they say about guys with big feet."

He pointed downwards and tapped his humongous toes on the carpet.

"Yeah," Dean replied with a nod. "Yeah, they wear big shoes to match. And _you're_ forgetting something!"

"I doubt that…" began Sam, but Dean interrupted.

"I used to bathe you when you were a baby," said Dean. "I know exactly what's down there!"

He was determined his little brother wasn't going to win _this _round of 'snark'. So far it was a draw, and Dean was prepared to fight dirty to gain the upper hand.

"Low blow, Dean," retorted Sam, catching on instantly. "And that wasn't an invitation, by the way." _His_ Cheshire cat had apparently scored some weed from Dean's. "Just in case that's what your little display is all about."

He indicated Dean's state of undress, folded his arms, and added smugly "'Cos I should warn you. S'been a few years since you caught a glimpse of the good stuff. Not sure you could handle me, if you get my meaning."

His eyebrows waggled suggestively.

Dean's mouth dropped open for the merest nanosecond, then snapped shut again.

"Now that's just sick, Sammy," his older brother spluttered indignantly, and hurriedly began pulling on his jeans.

Sam laughed. "Brought that one on yourself, dude."

Dean grumbled something along the lines of "Go get some friggin' coffee," while hunting for a clean tee-shirt.

He heard Sam's laughter cut off by the motel room door swinging shut behind him, and grinned.

Since he and Sam took up hunting again, things had been slowly getting back to the old routine. If the last hunt was anything to go by their brotherly bond and sense of teamwork was reforming stronger than ever, and Dean couldn't have been happier. Even better, the old camaraderie and humour was still there.

Sure, they called a truce on the prank wars since that business with that stupid Hell House, but there hadn't been any deals made about good old fashioned _snarking_. The competition had been running fast and furious for the last two hundred miles, and the Winchester brothers were only just getting started.

And sure, maybe he'd let Sam win a few rounds here and there, but that was only so the kid didn't get despondent. Sam was still grieving over Jess, and the loss of his 'safe', _normal_ life, not to mention their absent father so if this was what he needed to lighten up? Then Dean could sacrifice his highest scores for his little brother.

Finally, he found a clean tee-shirt and, _blessed be!_ a clean pair of socks. A quick rummage in his toiletry bag found his toothbrush, paste and nearly empty bottle of aftershave.

"Perfect!" he muttered, happily, and sauntered back into the bathroom.

The TV was playing to itself in the background the whole time and Dean had mostly ignored it, until something caught his attention on the local news around fifteen minutes later.

It was a grainy picture of a nearby shopping mall, and judging by the sudden jerky movements that made the eyes strain and the gut churn, it was being filmed from a news chopper.

"…_the gunmen have been captured and arrested, though a desperate search continues for the hero of the hour. Once again, the police are extremely worried about a possibly injured young man, who may have been shot during a robbery at the main store. He is described as 6ft 4, around 175 lbs, late teens – early twenties, with hazel eyes and longish brown hair. He disappeared leaving a trail of blood behind him, after saving a teenage boy who had been taken hostage at gunpoint…"_

Dean's eyes widened, fearfully. "Ah shit, Sammy! What the hell you got yourself into _this_ time?"

* * *

Dean tuned out the annoying, nasal voice of the newscaster, having heard enough, and watched the footage with his nose almost pressed to the TV screen in hopes of figuring out where his kid brother went.

It was fuzzy, and taken right over head of the shopping mall in an almost bird's eye perspective, but Dean could still recognize the tall sasquatch standing outside one of the stores as Sam.

Some guy in a ski mask was holding a small figure against his chest, and Sam was obviously talking to him. No doubt he was using those puppy dog eyes to get the kid free, but in the next instant it quickly became clear that it hadn't worked.

Sam suddenly lunged forward, grabbed the kid, and shoved him behind and away, using his own body as a shield.

At the same time, Dean saw the muzzle flash as the gun went off and Sam dropped like a stone. An instant later he was up again, moving and stumbling away, while the gunman appeared to panic, turned tail and ran straight into the arms of the cops.

Dean grabbed his jacket and ran out of the motel room. He had his idiot brother to find.

Sam wasn't going to stick around, injured or not. He'd been paranoid about running into the cops after the shape shifter in St Louis, and he knew that the minute Dean realised he was hurt, he'd come after him.

Since coming here a few days ago, Sam worried incessantly that Dean was gonna be recognised by the wrong person one of these days, and then the shit would hit the windmill. After all, they were back in the neighbourhood and only around fifty miles away from Rebecca and Zack's home town. No way would Sam risk going to a hospital if it meant Dean's arrest, not even to save his own life.

"Stupid kid," Dean muttered softly, teeth worrying his lower lip, and locking the motel door with a shaky hand.

He jumped behind the wheel of the Impala, fired her up and just as he peeled out of the parking lot, his cell phone rang.

"That better be you Sam!" he barked out, the moment he answered the call.

"Y-yeah, it's me," Sam answered in a low, pained voice.

"Where are you? How bad are you hurt?" Dean didn't waste time and energy tearing into the kid. He prayed there was plenty of time for that later.

He heard Sam breathing in short, sharp breaths and a vice seemed to wrap around his heart, squeezing tightly.

"Sammy? Answer me!"

"Inna… alley… behind… b-bakery," Sam coughed and groaned softly. "H-hurts… bl-bleeding…"

Now that he had the basics, Dean could afford to spend a little time on comforting the poor kid until he got there.

"Alright, Sam," Dean softened his tone, trying to keep his little brother calm. "It's all gonna be ok. I'm on my way, kiddo, so just sit tight and stay out of sight for now, right? I'll find you. You hearin' me Sammy?"

"Y-yeah…"

When the kid's voice trailed off Dean's worry and frustration made him harsh and snappy.

"Sam! You still there? Stay awake now, ok? No going to sleep, no closing those peepers!"

He heard what sounded suspiciously like a muffled sob, and the vice squeezed tighter, making his chest hurt.

"H-hurry Dean, please?" Sam responded, weakly.

There came a sliding noise and a slight thud, then nothing more.

"Sam? _Sam!_" Dean was yelling into the phone by now, thumping furiously on the steering wheel and desperately watching the road ahead. "Answer me, dammit!"

Nothing, just the low buzz of some outside air conditioning unit near where his little brother was probably lying unconscious.

_Oh God!_

Dean put his foot down harder, recklessly exceeding the speed limit. Salty tears trickled down his face, dripped off his chin and dampened his tee-shirt.

"Hang on, Sammy," he growled into his cell phone. "I swear to God, you die on me? I'll kill you!"

* * *

The Impala slid sideways into the parking lot and came to an abrupt halt, perfectly parked with little effort, dead centre of the white lines. Dean didn't notice. He also failed to notice that he had taken up a disabled parking slot, and ignored the sound of an elderly guy in a white Buick Le Sabre, banging repeatedly on the horn and bringing Dean's parentage into disrepute rather loudly out the driver's window.

But the tears and look of absolute fear on Dean's face soon silenced the old guy's protests.

Dean was already out the car, clutching his cell phone, and at a full on sprint by this time, too distraught to notice a thing.

The Buick driver sat in silence for a moment, wondering what the emergency was and who was dying for the young guy in the black Chevy to look so desolate and desperate. Then, with a shrug, he charitably gave up and moved on to the next available parking space.

But when the parking control douchebag, hovering at the other end of the lot, pounced at an opportunity to relieve his boredom and called a tow-truck, the Buick owner decided to intervene.

Pulling up beside the officer, he called out authoritatively, "Not so fast there, sonny…"

* * *

"Dammit Sam!" he muttered, angrily. "Coulda said _which_ damn bakery!"

When he came to the alley running behind the shopping mall, Dean's first stop at Robinson's Bread House revealed no Sam, but the baker taking a smoke break outside the back entrance did reveal that there were at least two other bakeries nearby.

It was a long, dingy alley, filled with garbage bins, cats, boxes, beer kegs and various other crap often found out back of general stores and bars.

Dean hoped he'd also find a certain little brother alive and well.

But when he spotted the pale figure sitting slumped against a dumpster, he figured _merely alive_ would have to do for now.

"Sammy?" he called out and dashed over to him. Reaching out, he gently cupped the kid's jaw with one hand, and supported his lolling head with the other. "Sam?"

Sam's eyes were closed, hands wrapped protectively over his gut, blood seeping through his fingers. His breathing was more like panting; shallow and rasping. Sweat beaded on his brow and his skin felt clammy to the touch.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean asked, softly, worried eyes sweeping over Sam's face. "I'm here, kiddo. You're safe now. Open your eyes for me, huh?"

A faint groan answered his question.

"C'mon, open your eyes," Dean demanded a little more harshly when the kid didn't respond. "Sam, look at me!"

Sam's eyelids fluttered for a second, remained closed, then slowly opened to reveal watery, red-rimmed eyes, glassy with pain. His mouth fell open on a small gasp and made a soft noise that sounded like a question.

Dean smiled shakily. "Yeah, it's really me. I need to take a look at that wound, ok?"

Sam blinked just once the once, slow and weary, then gave a slight nod.

"B-bossy... big brothers," he muttered, with a half-hearted smile.

"Someone has to be," said Dean, and patted his little brother's chest.

Gently moving Sam's huge bear-like paw to one side, Dean tried his best not to grimace. The kid had lost a lot of blood, and any hope Dean might have held that the bullet had passed straight through went right down the crapper. Glancing up into Sam's tired face, he rubbed a hand over his mouth and sighed.

"Sammy…"

"D-don't say it," Sam whispered, his body beginning to tremble with delayed shock. "P-please, don't say it. Y-you can f-fix this, r-right?"

Dean wished like hell he could, but one look at Sam's bullet wound told him that this was way beyond his field skills. He shrugged out of his jacket, buying himself a little time before he had to tell his little brother the bad news.

"Here," he said, quietly. "We need to keep you warm, kiddo."

Sam offered no protest when Dean gently grabbed a hold of his shirt front.

"Easy now," he told him. "Let's take this nice and slow, huh, Sammy?"

He carefully pulled the kid's upper body towards him, letting the younger boy's face rest against Dean's neck, and then wrapped the jacket round Sam's shoulders.

"Dean?" Sam's muffled voice was full of pleading, sounding like a sick five year old. "P-please don't make me go to the hospital?"

Dean blinked several times. His eyes had developed another sudden leak, blurring his vision, and that was no good at all. He couldn't take care of his brother if he couldn't see properly.

"Got no choice, Sam," he whispered back, taking off his outer button-down shirt as well. "I'm sorry, kid, but you're too badly hurt. I can't deal with this on my own and I ain't gonna risk your life by trying."

"Dean, _please,_" Sam begged, softly. "You know I hate hospitals."

Dean snorted. "Shoulda thought about that before you went all hostage negotiator," but he softened his words with a light, weary chuckle.

"S-someone h-had to," Sam answered, breathlessly, then grabbed at Dean's hand and gave it a weak squeeze. "L-listen to me! You can't take me in… if you get c-caught…"

He bit down hard on his lip to stifle a groan when Dean pressed his button-down shirt to the wound, but he couldn't stop his face from scrunching up in pain.

Dean tilted Sam back in his arms a little so he could gaze into his brother's face.

"I won't get caught," he said with a faint smile, eyes glinting with steely determination. "I promise you, everything's gonna be ok, and I'll be right there with you."

"But…"

"I'm not gonna leave you," Dean told him, firmly, with the confidence that only comes from being a know-it-all big brother. "Ok?"

Sam nodded, too exhausted to carry on the argument.

"Ok then," said Dean, gathering Sam closer and wrapping his arms around the kid's chest, both for support and to hold the blood soaked shirt to his wound. "Are you ready? On three…"

The two boys stumbled to their feet, the older holding on tightly to the younger. Sam's stifled cry of pain nevertheless echoed round the alley, scaring a couple of stray cats away from their meal of left-over lasagne.

"Oh God!" Sam rasped out, his gut throbbing from the unwanted movement, knees buckling under the strain.

Dean struggled to keep him upright.

"Oh no you don't," he ordered, grabbing the kid's arm and pulling it around his own shoulders. "No resting, not yet. You can rest when we get to the car."

But he kept still, holding on tight to his brother, allowing Sam a little time to adjust to the new position.

"You ready to move now?" he asked around thirty seconds later.

"R-ready as… I'll ever b-be," Sam answered, head hanging down, sweat-dampened hair falling into his eyes.

They took a slow shuffle along the alley, carefully avoiding anything that might trip them up. Sam's legs were shaky, uncoordinated and clumsy, trying so hard to assist Dean and keep himself upright, but in the end he had to concede defeat.

"So-sorry Dean," he murmured, sadly, nearly going down again.

"S'ok Sammy," Dean stopped for a second, readjusted his hold, and continued with their journey.

Dean was virtually bearing his brother's full weight by the time they reached the end of the alley, and Sam's feet were practically dragging along the ground behind him. A trail of blood followed the boys out to the parking lot and Sam grew weaker with each step.

But when they saw the Impala, Dean's jaw dropped in dismay. It was blocked in by a white Buick and its elderly owner appeared to be holding a three-way argument with a parking control officer, and the driver of a tow-truck.

Dean managed to catch some of the conversation as he dragged Sam closer.

"… I keep telling you! That's my grandson's car!"

"Your grandson's car isn't bearing a disabled badge," the parking officer stated tonelessly.

"He just came to drop off my wallet," the elderly guy peered up at him with watery blue eyes filled with indignation. "I left it on the kitchen table this morning, and I need it to pick up my prescription meds. He's probably walking round the shopping mall trying to find me as we speak! You can't tow his car for doing a good deed for his poor old grandpa!"

Just then the old guy spotted Dean, his eyes widening when he saw who he was carrying.

"Son? Is that…?" he raised an eyebrow and stared pointedly at Dean.

Dean got with the program quickly and joined in with the deception.

"Grandpa!" he called out, then deliberately with slight emphasis on his brother's name: "_Sammy's_ hurt. He was…"

But the parking officer jumped right in before he could finish.

"That's the kid from the robbery!" he stared at the two young men in disbelief. "I saw him myself, when he got shot. He's a goddamned, real life _hero! _The police have been looking everywhere for him!"

"Indeed!" said 'grandpa' with a proud snort. "I might've known my boys were involved in saving that child's life. Now don't just stand there gawking at 'em. Call an ambulance for goodness sake! Can't you see Sammy's bleeding out?"

Dean wasn't quite sure what was going on here. Maybe he was going into shock or something 'cos he couldn't grasp who knew what, how, or why, and he was rapidly developing a headache. But the word 'ambulance', and 'bleeding out' sure made a hell of a lot of sense to him, especially when Sam let out another pained groan and finally lost consciousness, his body slumping towards the concrete and taking Dean with him.

_**TBC...**_

_**Let me know what ya think.**_

_**This story in complete in four chapters, and will be posted every other day.**_

_**This might also be the last story I post on this site, and will mostly post to my live journal account in future. I'm afraid I've had enough of this site, with the last straw being a few weeks back when someone complained to the mods and had two of my older stories outright deleted due to 'wrong ratings'. They weren't my best stories since they were some of my very first, but I was quite fond of them. It really pissed me off that the reader didn't have the decency to just send me a message, advising me on the ratings. I might have been able to go in and change them. I find the ratings system on this site way too confusing so I always try to put warnings at the top of my stories instead. But there really was no call to go 'running to teacher and telling tales'. **_

_**Hope you're happy, whoever you are, with having ruined it for everyone else on here and, also, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your arsehole, you pathetic mindless little moron. **_

_**Cheers to everyone else.**_

_**Love ST**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Age of Heroes**

**Chapter Two**

**Many thanks for all the wonderful reviews and PMs. I replied to as many as I could in the short time frame. My apologies to those I missed, of which I know there were quite a few of you but I figured you'd rather have the next chapter tonight...**

**I still haven't completely made up my mind about leaving this site, but if I do then my stories so far will remain here, I promise you, until some troll decides to make another complaint to the site mods.**

**By the way, I believe there's a link to my live journal account on my profile which you can copy and paste into your browser. Failing that, just google Skagtrendy1, and it should take you to my account.**

**Cheers again everyone!**

**Many, many belated thanks go out Devon99 for the beta read.**

* * *

Essentially, Sam was a local hero. Everyone knew him on sight.

The parking control officer, the tow-truck driver, the manager of the shopping mall and his assistant, who provided sterile bandages to help keep Sam safe from infection… absolutely everyone who had either been at the mall during the robbery, and anyone who had seen the news broadcast an hour or so earlier, could all pick Sam out of a line-up. Apparently, it was his height and shaggy mop of hair that gave him away.

Fortunately, no one guessed that the elderly gentleman, who ended up driving the two brothers to hospital when the ambulance was reportedly stuck in a traffic jam, wasn't actually Sam's grandfather. However, no one needed to know that.

Dean had clung onto Sam as the old guy drove through three red lights and yelled abuse at pedestrians who had, rather stupidly, decided to cross the street when the WALK sign was lit up. They also picked up two cop cars, both of whom tried to get him to pull over, but he steadfastly ignored them.

Presumably, the cops were reluctant to fire on an old man whose head only just came up to the top of his steering wheel, so they settled for following him all the way to the hospital.

Dean held on to his brother, trying not to notice the chaos the old guy was causing on the road, supporting the kid's head with a hand under his neck and keeping his airway clear. Sam's chest rose and fell sharply with each shallow breath and, to Dean's horror, blood leaked from the corner of his slack mouth.

_Oh Jesus…_

"Don't you dare!" Dean growled angrily. "Don't you dare crap out on me, you little shit!"

Sam's eyes opened for a second. He gazed up at Dean, raised a small smile, revealing bloodstained teeth and gave a tiny nod of the head.

"Atta boy, Sammy," whispered Dean, gently stroking the back of the boy's neck. "You stay with me, ya hear? Don't you leave me."

Sam's eyes slid shut again, but he snuggled closer to his big brother, rubbing his head against Dean's chest like a child seeking comfort and protection.

The driver smiled sadly when he saw the two brothers in his rear view mirror, and heard the older brother whispering encouragement to the younger. Their obvious devotion reminded him of two little boys he'd met some twenty years before, and he wondered what the chances were that these were the same brothers. They were about the right age, after all...

He shook his head in amused self-deprecation.

_Ben, you old fool._

Given what their daddy did for a living, he doubted the small family was even alive now.

But... those boys... there sure was something familiar about them.

And one of them was called... he froze.

_Sam?_

_No way! What are the chances...?_

"Hey! What's your name, kid?" he asked, glancing casually into the rear view mirror once more.

Dean raised his head and, with a wan smile, introduced himself.

"Dean, and this is Sammy," he indicated the kid lying in his arms. "My little brother."

Ben managed to cover his shock with a reasonable degree of success, but inside he was reeling.

Then he remembered the car, the sweet, classic ride, all black and shiny chrome, and the pieces all fell into place.

Ben blinked more slowly this time.

_Well I'll be…_

* * *

Once there, the cops took one look at Sam in the rear seat, trembling with shock and covered in blood, and let the elderly guy walk with an official warning.

That was one argument narrowly avoided, but there were bound to be several more to tackle.

Dean cradled Sam tighter to his chest when one of the cops kindly tried to help him with his brother, virtually snarling at the poor guy, who backed off with his hands raised in surrender.

A gurney appeared from the front entrance of the ER, surrounded by a flock of medics, and Dean finally realised he had to let Sammy go. But he stayed with him all the way, as promised, until he was gently but forcibly removed from the OR by hospital security.

His last view of Sam was of an oxygen mask being strapped to his pale face, while a dark haired nurse began cutting away his blood stained clothes.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered in despair as the doors to the OR swung shut.

He slumped down into a nearby chair and waited.

And waited.

He hung his head dejectedly, like a little boy who'd lost his best friend.

Ben, seeing all this, decided to stay on and watch over him, wisely keeping silent for the most part while the kid ignored him, his mind obviously buzzing with best and worst case scenarios.

* * *

Dean stayed put all night long, pacing up and down, drinking gallons of stale, bitter coffee and probably wearing a hole in his stomach big enough to match the one in Sam's.

And eventually, Ben wormed his way into a conversation with the younger guy that lasted long into the night.

"What's taking them so long?" Dean had fumed at one point. "They haven't even brought out the damn paperwork to fill in."

But things were going surprisingly smoothly.

Turned out, Sam hadn't needed the brothers' usual fake health insurance. The father of the child he'd saved had quickly caught wind of Sam's peril, and driven at top speed to the hospital in order to take care of any medical expenses on the spot.

It seemed the locals thought nothing of traffic offences when there were lives at stake.

While Sam was in surgery, Dean had gotten to know his 'grandpa' a little better.

He was quite a character, charming the young nurses into providing decent coffee, and occasionally pinching a few rather lovely scrub-clad derrieres in the process.

Dean was amazed at how the old coot got away without being bitch slapped to kingdom come.

However he managed it, the old entertainer helped pass the rest of the time until they heard news of Sam's condition.

"He's critical but stable," a young nurse informed them a few more hours later. "Once he's out of Recovery we'll be transferring him to a private room in ICU, and I'll come get you."

"Promise?" Ben asked, with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, fondly. "I promise!"

When Dean later asked Benjamin McKenna, retired physician and former military man originally from Wisconsin, why he'd covered for the pair of them, the old guy just smiled kindly.

"Someone once did a great favour for me, a long time ago. Besides," he peered closely at Dean, and stared long and hard into the younger man's eyes until Dean began shifting uncomfortably in the hard, plastic hospital seat. "I know a couple of homeless kids when I see 'em."

Dean wanted to take offence, but he gathered, correctly, that no offence was actually meant.

Instead, he cleared his throat and answered succinctly. "We ain't exactly homeless, sir. And we ain't kids."

Benjamin laughed softly. "Maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, but it's there. In your eyes.

He paused for a moment, shook his head, ran a hand down his face, then finally told him.

"Your home is the open road. Always will be, kid. Just like your Daddy."

"What?" Dean stared at him, eyebrows almost taking flight.

He stared back at old McKenna until something started nudging at his memory.

"Do you I know you?"

The guy sighed and nodded...

* * *

It was not long after Ben took early retirement from medical practice when it all happened.

He'd been staying at a lake resort that had fallen into disuse. The place belonged to an old friend who could no longer afford the upkeep and, as a result, the cabins were decrepit, falling apart and in some cases downright dangerous.

As a favour to his friend, he'd offered to stay up there for a few months and work on the buildings, putting to good use all his father had taught him many years before, when life was simpler and Ben had wanted to be just like his carpenter daddy. That was until medical school called to him, and later he was recruited into the army as a field surgeon…

But he was digressing.

_Too damn old. Too many damn memories to keep track of_, he reflected with a grimace.

So Ben stayed, enjoying the quiet serenity of the old place and the fresh fish he caught each morning in the large camp lake. Every day he sanded and painted, hammered and varnished. He'd always felt there was a certain kind of sanctuary in hard, physical labour; it brought with it a peace and tranquillity to the body and soul like nothing else on earth.

He soon found, however, that there was more wrong with the camp than just rot and woodworm. Plagued by cold spots and strange scratching noises in the night, he hadn't thought much of it at first; just put it down respectively to poor insulation, rats and possums.

But things took a turn for the worse on his third evening when the cabin he was staying in caught light. He barely escaped with his life.

There was no explanation, no evidence of foul play and nothing to even indicate what had started the fire in the first place. It was as though the flames had just magically appeared and virtually razed his cabin to the ground.

After a little background research, Ben found out that the area's history was riddled with such occurrences, but it started mainly when a twelve year old boy had been vacationing with his family back in the 70s. To cut a long story short, the kid got hold of some matches, one thing led to another and he ended up burning alive in the cabin, taking his parents and little sister with him. The fire had spread to nearby cabins but was brought under control before much more damage could be done.

Ben had been saddened to read that the mother had been pregnant with her third child at the time.

It was a terrible tragedy, one that began repeating itself every twelve years, wiping out several cabins and sometimes taking some poor innocent with it. So far, it had claimed the lives of ten adults and eight kids.

Ben frowned. He didn't believe in ghosts because he'd never seen one and, as far as he was concerned, seeing was believing, but the coincidence was incredible, and Ben didn't think too much of those either, especially when he got home from the library to find another cabin reduced to a heap of charcoal, and smouldering merrily away to itself.

These latest incidences hit the local headlines and beyond, and within hours the place was overrun with all kinds of human vermin. Cynical, condescending reporters; annoyingly over-enthusiastic, amateur ghost hunters (who saw hidden meaning absolutely _everywhere they looked); _and then there were the patronising, stuck up, paranormal specialists, who knew more than anyone else because _they went to university and simply __**must**__ be right about everything._

In all honesty, Ben wouldn't cross the street to urinate on any one of them if they caught fire.

Pun completely and utterly intended.

They turned up at all hours of the day and night. Ben ignored them for the most part, and just carried on with his renovations. When they began harassing him with questions, and requests for interviews, he'd been tempted to leave but he really had nothing else to do or any place else to go. So after a few quietly murmured threats, each of which gave the glory hunting 'guests' quite some graphic ideas on how a hammer could be inserted sideways into their bodies without going via the mouth, they'd left him alone and he'd stayed on, amidst all kinds of scientific experiments, watching with casual interest from time to time when he got bored.

But nothing happened. Whatever was torching the camp grounds and its cabins didn't put in a performance. Perhaps it had been scared off by all the people traipsing in and out of the place from dusk 'til dawn.

They all left after about a week, laying the blame for the fires on local kids just messing around, and Ben thought he finally had the place to himself.

But he was wrong.

A night later, another cabin almost bit the dust, and it was only because Ben happened to be outside enjoying the night air that he managed to save it before the fire caught a real hold.

That time, he definitely heard the sound of childish giggling. Ben went over the camp grounds time and again, but found no trace anybody else had been there.

But still, he wondered if the ghost hunters had been right and he had a young, very human pyromaniac on his hands.

Ben decided to set some traps in order to try and catch the little shit in the act. By the end of that afternoon, each remaining cabin was rigged with trip wire linked to clusters of tin cans, each of which contained a handful of pebbles. No way was anybody setting light to the place without Ben knowing about it.

Nothing happened. No mysterious fires, no loud clacking and rattling of old bean tins.

Zip. Nada.

Finally, he had the peace he needed, but Ben wasn't convinced he'd been let off that lightly. He remained alert and vigilant at all times, even sleeping with the trip wire round his cabin tied to his left big toe.

The following weekend, as Ben was sanding down cabin 4a, the low rumble of an engine caught his attention. Frowning deeply, eyes searching the grounds from his perch halfway up a ladder, he stopped and listened intently.

The noise cut out, and silence reigned once again until a tall, dark eyed man carrying a duffle over his shoulder appeared, strolling into the camp.

_Gotta be ex-military, _Ben thought. _Marines at a guess._

The stranger's sharp gaze flittered around the place, taking in everything from the lake to the newly restored outside restroom and shower block. But his frown grew when he spotted the burnt out carcasses of the afflicted cabins.

Ben watched him without saying a word, waiting for the guy to realise someone else was present.

It didn't take long.

Ben swore he hadn't made a sound, hadn't _moved_ in the last thirty seconds or however long since the stranger arrived. The guy's head suddenly shot up, and Ben found himself on the end of the most intensely unnerving glare he'd ever experienced since his basic training days in the army.

The two men stared at each other for a long while, both assessing and checking off their own personal 'friend or foe' criteria.

The younger man was a good looking guy, and his age could have been anywhere between twenty five and forty, Ben observed. He just had that kind of face.

Whatever the young stranger saw in Ben it obviously met with his approval because he nodded in greeting with an almost-smile, and relaxed his shoulders _ever so slightly._

"Afternoon, sir," he said, politely, trying his hardest to be warm and friendly but failing miserably.

_Haven't yet earned his trust, I guess._

Ben wondered about that. Ex-military personnel weren't exactly given over to trust easily, but this seemed a little extreme.

Ben took pity on him and smiled back. "Afternoon, son. Anything I can do for you?"

The stranger looked uncomfortable, and shifted from foot to foot.

"Uh… more like, what I can do for you?" he replied with a question, and scratched the back of his neck, nervously. "Was just wondering if you had any work you needed doing. I'm pretty good with my hands; mechanics, carpentry, electrical, you name it."

Ben tipped his head to one side in consideration. It wasn't really his place to be taking on staff, but… he glanced all around him at the other cabins, the ones turned to charcoal, and the ones still waiting to be fixed. It was a huge job for one man, and Ben decided that he was gonna need some company for the task.

This guy seemed at least tolerable. Besides, two sets of eyes were better than one if that damn pyromaniac came back.

He nodded. "Why don't you take that cabin over there, son? It's a little big for one person, but it's freshly renovated and at least there'll be plenty of room."

The guy once again looked uncomfortable. "Thank you, sir."

Then, to Ben's surprise, he turned and called out "Dean? C'mon out and bring your brother."

Two quiet young boys trailed into Ben's line of sight and his heart plummeted. No way could he let these kids stay here, not with that psycho running around lighting everything up like a godamned Christmas tree. It just wasn't safe for the little fellas.

"Now wait a minute, you…" he began, but the stranger interrupted as though he hadn't heard.

"You boys go get settled in cabin 6b," he told his kids.

"Daddy?" the younger one gazed up at his father with utter adoration. "Are we staying here tonight?"

The guy smiled. It was a genuine, kindly smile at that, one that made his eyes twinkle and his handsome face light up.

"Yeah, Sammy," he said and gently ruffled both boys hair, earning a soft groan from the older kid. "We're gonna be staying here for a while longer than that, in fact."

The little boy giggled delightedly. "Cool! I wanna see a bear!"

His father laughed softly. "No bears up here, Sammy. Just a bunch of rabbits and squirrels."

The child appeared to gravely consider this news, his forehead wrinkling in deep thought. Then he nodded and shrugged.

"Ok then," he said.

And that, it seemed, was that.

"Dean, you wanna get out the fishing rods?"

The older boy, who'd been silent and seemingly bored up until then, perked up a bit.

"Really? We can go fishing in the lake?" he stared hopefully at his Dad, eyes shining brightly.

The stranger's face suddenly looked a little guilty as he turned back to Ben.

"Is that ok?" he asked, quietly, face as hopeful as his son's.

Ben inwardly sighed. It was late afternoon, almost evening, and they were miles from the local town. He couldn't in good conscience turn them away. Not tonight at any rate.

"Sure," Ben answered with a big grin. "Help yourself. Plenty of juicy trout to feast on."

The guy nodded gratefully, almost sighing with relief. "Thank you. Again."

To his boys, he said "Go on. Get yourselves set up and whoever catches the biggest fish doesn't have to wash up after dinner."

The two brothers were grinning happily from ear to ear as they darted towards the small lake.

Ben studied them with some amusement, smiling as Dean showed Sammy how to skim stones and pointed out the best places to fish.

The older child couldn't have been more than eight or nine, with his dark, forest green eyes filled with a keen awareness that no kid his age had a right to. The younger, clinging tightly to his big brother's hand, was only around four or five. He stared all around him with big, dewy, blue-green eyes, and Ben decided then and there that his long dead wife would have adopted the two adorable scallywags in an instant.

Ben smiled regretfully. He was never able to give his wife a child before the cancer took her, but he was positive she would have made a wonderful mom.

Ben climbed down from his ladder and held out a hand in friendship.

The guy introduced himself as John Coleman, just looking for work, needing money to feed and clothe his kids during the 80s recession. And while Ben was ready to buy the latter part, he didn't believe for a second that this guy was 'just looking for work'. There was something about him that made Ben take notice.

The father carried himself with a dignity and grace more associated with a jungle cat than a human. A casual, almost languid "Just give me a reason, no really, come a little closer and I'll show you my sharp, white, shiny teeth…"

But it was the air of guarded mistrust, and the narrowed eyes, that spoke of heinous violence and pain should anyone so much as glance at his kids in a vaguely suspicious way, that swung the deal for Ben.

In the end, Ben decided he liked the man. He gave John the task of refitting the cabin doors and fixing the broken down window frames. Payment was in the form of food, a roof over their heads, and $200 per cabin, depending on the quality of John's workmanship.

The two men shook hands, and parted company for the evening.

A few uneventful days passed by peacefully, but while Ben began to relax, John seemed to become restless and irritable, as though he was waiting for something important that refused to show up.

An unintentional bout of eavesdropping only deepened Ben's curiosity and concern.

"Dad, I still think we should stay here longer."

He heard Dean talking to his father when he was passing by the outside restrooms. "What if there _is_ something here? Someone could get hurt again if we just walk away."

"There's been no sign of any activity, not even EMF, Dean. Besides, we've taken a long enough break," John replied, tersely. "A couple more nights, then it's time to get back to work. People are dying, and it's up to us to stop it."

A young sigh.

"I s'pose you're right," said Dean, sounding weary beyond his years. "It's just that Sammy's really happy here."

"Yeah, I know," John answered after a small pause, sounding sad and consolatory. "But we can always come back some day."

Ben glanced over to where Sam was playing with some kid's toy a few feet away. Just far enough to not hear what was being said, but close enough for his brother to keep an eye on. And yeah, the little boy _did_ seem content with his surroundings.

Ben had smiled and moved on to his next task of fixing up the roof on cabin 9. He felt uncomfortable, listening in on a private moment between father and son.

The older kid obviously adored his little brother and took his responsibilities with all the seriousness of a fully grown adult. Maybe more so.

But he just couldn't get that conversation out of his head.

_What if there is something here? Someone could get hurt again if we just walk away._

_There's been no sign of any activity, not even EMF…_

And just what in hell _that _meant, was completely beyond Ben. But for the following few days it plagued his thoughts and haunted his dreams.

_People are dying, and it's up to us to stop it._

He was a smart man, med school, PhD, among other hard earned qualifications, long years of experience, and he was starting to come to some conclusions about his guests in cabin 6b.

_**TBC...**_

_**There's a little more action coming up in the next chapter, so be nice to me and I'll post it on Friday as promised.**_

_**With love,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Age of Heroes**

**Chapter Three**

**Again, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. I was on call last night so I'm just too knackered to do anything... but give you wonderful people the next chapter. Promise to reply to your reviews of the last chapter on Sunday, if you promise to review!**

**Special note to DeansSammy: **

**It was an absolute pleasure and honour to meet you, and I'm so pleased you had a nice time in the Channel Islands on your holidays, all the way from Austria! ****Hope you come back to see us again soon, sweetheart. ****Or, maybe my husband, Nelson and I will come visit you someday!**

**Many thanks to Devon99 for her beta read.**

**On with the story...**

* * *

Out of curiosity, Ben visited the small family with an offer to join him for dinner outside his cabin… his _latest_ cabin. He'd just finished repairing and varnishing a picnic bench, and it was too nice an evening to eat indoors.

The two men were much more familiar now, almost friends, though they rarely talked, content to work in a companionable silence for most of the time, and just listen to the amusing conversations and laughter going on between the young brothers.

But Ben was still counting on food to draw the younger man out a little further.

When John opened the door to him, Ben managed a peeked inside to see the two brothers snuggled up under a blanket and sound asleep, Dean curled around Sammy like a protective wall against the world.

"Evening John!" he greeted the young father, cheerily. "Everything ok?"

"Sammy got sick with flu a few weeks back," John whispered with a finger to his mouth, and indicated his youngest child. "He's still not one hundred percent yet."

That was news to Ben, but when he thought about it, it actually made sense. Most kids Sammy's age were full of beans and questions, enough of them to drive a parent round the twist. This youngster had seemed happy if a little quieter than expected.

"That's a shame," said Ben. "I was gonna ask if you guys would care to join me for dinner. I'm cooking!" he added hopefully.

John looked tempted.

"Got some nice T-bones, picked them up at the town butchers myself this morning," Ben could see how the young father was trying not to drool, probably hadn't eaten good, home cooked food in a long while, so he sweetened the deal a little more. "And beer."

That clinched it.

"That's real kind of you Ben," John replied, with a half-smile. "We'd love to. Just give me a few minutes to wake the boys and get 'em dressed."

"No need for formality, John," said Ben with a smile. "If they wanna wear their PJs, then that's ok."

Dean, being a grown up and all, had steadfastly refused to eat steak in anything less than his Dad's old Kansas tee-shirt and a scruffy pair of jeans.

"A real man doesn't wear pyjamas at a steak dinner, sir," he sternly told Ben, who smothered a laugh and nodded his agreement, all formal like.

Sammy was all too happy to roam around in his sleep clothes, proud to show off the red and blue Superman motif, and claiming that Dean had "made them special for my birthday".

John had carried on staring at his food, taken huge bites of his steak and mash potato, while Dean had coughed nervously and told Sammy to "stop gassin' and eat your food!"

Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the PJs were stolen, but Ben inwardly shrugged. Times were hard for all, but especially on a single parent with two lively sons.

After that somewhat awkward moment, Ben thought it best to steer the conversation into slightly safer territory.

"So Dean!" he raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Sure you can eat that steak all by yourself?"

The kid snorted indignantly. "Bring it on grandpa!"

"Dean!" John admonished, just this side of annoyed. "Rude!"

"That's ok," Ben smoothed ruffled feathers nice, casual and easy. "I just laid down a challenge and he's accepted." He nodded at Dean. "On your marks, kid…"

Sam watched the dinner time entertainment and cheered on his big brother and hero with glee, until his Dad gently warned him to eat his own food before it got cold.

So, with wide eyed enthusiasm exclusively trained on Dean, little cheeks bulging with his chopped up portion of steak, Sammy chewed each mouthful carefully and carried on watching the show.

To Ben's surprise, Dean ate all his steak with the ease of a true professional eater.

"I'm impressed," Ben told him. "Not many guys your age could manage a whole T-bone like that."

John laughed. "You better believe it. Dean sure can eat, and then some. Never puts on a pound. Just like his mother."

It was said so easily, so off the cuff that it was obviously a slip of the tongue, and his eyes flashed briefly with sadness, almost too fast for Ben to spot, but he caught it alright.

Dean froze amid high fiving his kid brother, attention flitting worriedly between Ben and his father.

"She had a great appetite," John suddenly added, softly. "'specially when she was carrying these two."

Ben nodded along. Now he was getting somewhere. He'd wanted to find out more about this family without being too nosey or intrusive. It seemed this was the way through.

"Where is she now?" though truth be told, Ben had already guessed.

"She passed away six months after Sammy was born," came the soft reply.

Ben nodded and the table went silent, until Sam gently slipped his hand into John's and whispered loudly.

"Don't cry, Daddy," he said, nodding his head insistently. "Mommy's still here with us. Dean told me. She said that angels were watching over us and Dean said that she went to _live _with the angels. So she must be an angel _too_, right?"

Can't beat child logic, thought Ben, sadly.

John blinked a few times, pulled the little boy into his arms for a hug, then began tickling him until he giggled and squirmed.

"Yeah, you're right, tiger," said John, voice a little stronger now, but no less caring for it. "C'mon. It's time you boys were in bed."

Ben was expecting an _Awww, Daaaad, but I don't __**wanna**__ go to bed, just yet._

Or, _I ain't tired, Dad!_

But he was in for another surprise. Both kids meekly agreed without _any_ argument at all. Not one word.

John got up, and took Dean by the hand, Sammy still clinging on to his neck.

"Thanks for a great evening," John said to Ben, warmly. "We should do this again before we leave."

Ben held up a fresh beer bottle. "A cold one before you hit the hay?"

John seemed to think about it, and Ben was convinced the guy was gonna refuse, but instead he nodded.

"Be back soon as these two are bedded down for the night," then John grinned and added "Got a little of the harder stuff if you're interested."

Ben laughed. "Sounds good to me!"

Post several beers and two thirds of a bottle of Jose Gold, both men were settled deep in conversation. Ben almost crowed when John confirmed his suspicions.

"I knew it!" the old Doc spluttered. "Marine. Had to be! And Echo 21, you say? My God, I've patched up way too many of you boys to count over the years!"

John chuckled, sadly. "Yeah, I'll bet."

"What made you decide to leave?" Ben asked, tentatively after they both took another shot of tequila.

"Finished my tour of duty, went home, fell in love," John replied, simply.

Ben licked his lips, then asked the dreaded question. "How'd it happen?"

He didn't need to explain. John knew exactly what he meant.

"House fire. Nearly took us all with it," John answered softly. "Mary just didn't get out in time, and I… I couldn't save her."

The guarded way John said it, and how he absolutely avoided looking at the other man as though he were afraid of something, told Ben there was way more to it than that.

Ben wouldn't accept that the guy had killed his own wife, or anything. That was just too ridiculous. John had loved Mary, that was the plain truth, and he still mourned her loss.

But something sure was wrong here.

"John, if you ever want to talk about it…" Ben began, but John stopped him right there with a hefty fist-thump to the table, startling him a little.

"That's not a story you should hear," the younger man said in a deep, angry voice. "It's not a story _anyone_ should hear. Believe me," then his voice softened with an almost-apology, "you're better off not knowing."

Before Ben could answer, John suddenly leapt to his feet and began racing towards his cabin, yelling for his sons at the very top of his voice.

"What the…?" And then the old doctor saw it, the flickering of flames and billowing smoke.

Cabin 6b was on fire.

Ben was up and running for the fire hose, but an instant later a loud boom nearly burst his eardrums.

Dean appeared in the doorway of the cabin, wielding a smoking, double barrelled shot gun with Sammy lodged protectively over his shoulder.

Ben gaped in astonishment which only deepened when John, instead of snatching the weapon away, merely drew a .45 from inside his jacket, and began yelling orders to his oldest son.

"Dean, is it him?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good boy. You know the drill? Just like we talked about, right?"

"Stay away from all cabins until you give the all clear, and look out for Sammy, sir!" Dean rattled off his reply like he'd been practicing in a mirror or something.

_Or to a drill sergeant, maybe, _but Ben dismissed the uncharitable thought immediately.

There was something to be said for well practiced drills.

It saved lives, for one thing.

Setting Sam down on his feet and herding him to safety, Dean watched his father approach the cabin but signalled to Ben, beckoning him closer.

"C'mon! You'll be safer near the water! Dad'll take care of it!"

Ben didn't think it was worth arguing about and did as he was told, not once wondering why he was obeying the orders of a nine year old kid. To his horror, John entered the burning cabin, not paying any heed to the flames that were devouring the wood in a frenzied attack.

"What the…? John! Get out of there!" he yelled, and made to start after the other guy, but a small hand on his arm held him back.

"It's ok," Dean gazed up at him, reassuring and confident. "Dad knows what he's doing."

Sam, clinging to Dean with one hand, and sucking his thumb on the other, stayed quiet but nodded his head up and down with complete trust in everything his big brother said.

Ben was struck again by just how damn mature Dean was. And whether or not it was considered wise he believed the kid, trusted him as much as young Sam did.

Several moments later the flames died suddenly, as though a huge, invisible vat of water had been upended on top of the cabin, and John emerged from the resulting hot steam, smile grim on his soot blackened face. Apart from a small charred patch on his elbow he appeared otherwise unharmed.

He trudged over to the lake, gaze sweeping over Ben and his sons, then nodded.

"It's over," he said, and glanced back at the smoking remains of cabin 6b. "Permanently."

The next morning when Ben woke up, the small family were gone from his life. They hadn't made a sound, not even Sammy, and there was practically no sign they had even been there. The Impala was gone, and only a small scruffy note in the neat, careful handwriting of a child acting all grown up, had been left pinned to the smoke damaged door of cabin 6b.

It simply read:

_You're safe now. Thanks for everything._

_John, Dean and Sam._

That was it. No explanation of what had happened or why, though Ben felt sure he could guess. He'd been a close up witness after all.

Ben surmised that Dean was responsible for the note, since John didn't seem the type to say goodbye let alone draw small, smiley faces – and Ben was almost one hundred percent certain that part was down to Sam.

Ben had shaken his head and carried on with the restorations, telling himself he was better off alone, that he was grateful for the peace and quiet.

It rang a little hollow every time.

_Gonna miss those kids._

* * *

Twenty something years later, Ben sat alone in a hospital waiting room, staring down at something clutched in his hand.

The note was faded, and even tattier around the edges than it had been the day it was first penned. The result of two decades spent inside Ben's old wallet. But the writing was still clear, and if Ben looked hard enough he could sense grown up Dean and Sam in the long ago message.

His smile was soft and sad.

The older brother had listened to Ben's memories of all those years ago and nodded along.

"Yeah, I remember the place. It's only a few hours from here, right?"

"Yup," Ben had told him. "Around four hours drive is all."

This was no two-way street, however. Dean remained quiet after that, and no further information was forth coming except when Ben asked outright.

"Was your Dad there to specifically find whatever was causing those fires?"

"And put a stop to it," Dean had answered, shortly.

Ben had bitten his lip.

"It was a ghost, wasn't it." Not a question.

Nodding, Dean had looked away. "It's what we do," then added almost absentmindedly: "Saving people. Hunting things. Family business."

But his eyes had darkened, and Ben knew when to stop pushing.

With what little info Dean had reluctantly offered up, the elderly doctor was able to piece a few facts together. Apparently, the brothers now worked together on the road, investigating mysterious occurrences all over the country, just like their daddy, though Ben strongly suspected there was some kind of bigger picture going on there. Not something he could put his finger on, just a gut feeling.

Dean hadn't said much about his father before he was called away to his little brother's intensive care room. All he'd mentioned, when asked, was that John was on the road, still hunting and that the boys hadn't seen or heard from him in months.

Which was kind of sad.

Wherever John was now, Ben sure hoped he hadn't forgotten what he was really here for:

His boys.

Purely and simply, nothing and no one else.

A family, perhaps with two kids like Sam and Dean, was all Ben and his wife had ever wanted and not been granted, and while neither had allowed themselves to become bitter, it rankled that John was allowing this gift… _these gifts_ to slip through his fingers.

John had lost his wife, but in the process he was losing his sons right along with her.

Seemed to Ben, that John had left all the fun and important child-raising to Dean, and though the older brother had done an amazing job with Sam, it wasn't enough, and it wasn't fair on either boy.

Ben sighed. He was getting himself in a state over someone else's children and that would just lead to heartbreak. He didn't even know them. He was a complete stranger to the boys, and if Dean had any idea what kind of thoughts and assumptions had been going through Ben's head in the last half hour he'd rightly be furious.

Coming to a decision, Ben got to his aching old feet and stretched, then approached the nurses' station. A young female doctor was consulting a computer screen and ticking off a patient's chart.

She blushed becomingly at the elderly gentleman when he smiled at her.

"Excuse me, young lady," he said with grandfather charm, and added a wink for good measure. "Would you happen to have a spare envelope, and maybe some plain paper lying around?"

* * *

When he was finally allowed in to see his brother, Dean had invited Benjamin to join him, but the guy had just smiled and nodded.

"In a little while, son," he said. "You go first. He's _your _brother, after all."

"Thanks, _grandpa,_" Dean had said with a smirk and given the man a gentle clap on the back before disappearing into Sam's room.

It occurred to him that he ought to thank Ben for all his help, but figured that could wait until after he'd seen his brother for himself.

Plus, he kind of needed time to process everything.

That he and Sam had met the old boy before had almost knocked him for six. Ben had seemed familiar from the get go, sure, but in that "seen you around" kind of way. At first Dean hadn't believed him, but when Ben talked about that summer at the lake, with the cabins catching fire, and the little boy ghost-turned-arsonist he'd seen at the foot of Sammy's bed, it came creeping back to him.

That night, Sam hadn't even awakened until his older brother lifted him up out of bed and carried him to safety by the lake. Sammy had watched with wide eyes as the cabin went up in smoke, clinging tightly to Dean's hand.

Dean doubted Sammy even remembered much about that summer let alone the night in question.

Fire, it seemed, had followed the youngest Winchester pretty much throughout his life, but so far he'd escaped injury thanks to his guardian older brother.

It had been Sam's idea to leave the note but his writing skills hadn't been quite up to par back then, so he'd pestered Dean into it.

Dean smiled, remembering the solemn look on Sammy's face when Dean had read it out to him.

He'd tilted his head to one side, then grabbed a thick red crayon and drawn a shaky looking face with a smile.

"There!" Sam had said, nodding with satisfaction at his own contribution. "Now Mr Ben knows that we're still his friends, even if we never see him again."

John never knew, of course, and it was a secret the brothers had kept between them all this time.

No doubt, it would one day follow them to the grave.

Huffing out a soft breath, Dean came hurtling back to the present, and stared all around Sam's room.

For an intensive care unit, it was fairly informal. Sure, there were the traditional scary looking machines dotted around the room, a bleeping heart monitor and, of course, the bright white bed linen.

But the bouquets of flowers and the cuddly toys lent the room a kind of _kids nursery_ feel to it.

Then there was the patient.

Sam slept on, oblivious to his surroundings, which was just as well. In Sam's shoes, Dean would freak the hell out if he woke up to a scene straight out of _Day of the Triffids._

_At least there's no fucking clowns..._

Swallowing nervously, and not sure why, Dean stepped carefully over to the bed, which was also swamped with more foliage than any self-respecting gardening store could shake a stick at.

"Jesus, Sammy," he whispered, eyes wide when he took in all the Get Well cards and candy. "You got quite a fan club going on here."

He couldn't stop his heart from swelling with pride and sadness. It wasn't often a Winchester got the full on hero treatment, and for his little brother to be on the receiving end was overwhelming.

Fighting for a moment with an overgrown rubber plant, Dean eventually managed to perch on the edge of Sam's mattress and cupped a hand to the kid's neck.

Sam was pale but there was a slight flush of red high on his cheekbones. Tiny drops of perspiration collected on his top lip and the oxygen tube resting there.

Dean frowned. He'd been warned that Sam might carry a low grade, post operative fever, but it worried him that the kid looked so terrible.

"Sam?" he called softly. "You with me, buddy?"

He wasn't really expecting Sam to acknowledge him, but the kid's eyes cracked open slightly and gazed up at Dean in desperation.

"D-Dean…" he gasped, eyes watery and bright with fever. "D-don't… f-feel so good…"

"Yeah, I know," Dean sighed and reached for Sam's hand, encasing it in his and gently rubbing the knuckles. "They said this could happen, but it's nothing to worry about. You'll feel better soon, kid."

Sam clenched his eyes shut for a second. "N-no… g-gonna be sick!"

Dean immediately rolled Sam until he was holding him over the edge of the bed. The kid heaved violently and threw up, vomit splattering loudly on the tiled floor and spraying Dean's biker boots.

Dean grimaced but didn't mention it. "Easy, now," he crooned softly. "Just let it out, Sammy."

He kept a calm front for his brother's sake, but his heart was racing while he reached for the call button as discreetly as he could.

Sam gasped, choked, and began retching loudly, clutching at his gut and groaning with each heave. But even when the splattering came to an end, the pain didn't.

A young student nurse scurried in with an apologetic look on his face, and began clearing up the mess.

"Doctor will be along soon," he told the brothers. "She's just answering another call right now."

He soon scurried back out again, no doubt anxious to get back to his studies.

"Shit that hurt!" Sam gasped out when his torment finally, and thankfully, eased off; upper body slumped over the side of the bed.

"Yeah, I'll bet," said Dean, gently rolling him back until his head was resting back on the pillow. "Want some water for that?"

Sam smacked his lips and screwed his face up in disgust. "You need to ask?"

Chuckling, Dean reached for the water cup on the night stand and peered inside it.

"It's just ice," he looked at Sam, apologetically then glanced up at the 'nil by mouth' notice above the kid's head. "Sorry dude. Doctor's orders, apparently."

Sam shrugged, carefully. "Better than nothing."

He grabbed the cup and immediately knocked it back, filling his mouth with the wonderful coldness. Sam's white teeth crunched and chomped, and he swilled the melting ice round his mouth, greedily sucking and slurping.

Even Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Sam asked after he'd spat most of it back into the cup, gratefully losing the rancid taste of bile from his tongue.

Dean chuckled. "Dude, you sound like a blocked toilet."

Sam's head thumped gently back against his pillows.

"Do I look like I care?" but he said it with a small smile. "Thanks, Dean. Feel much better now."

"Not a problem." Dean's own grin faded slightly and he stared long and hard at his brother, sharp green gaze sweeping up and down Sam's bed ridden form.

He took in the outline of bulky bandages wrapping the kid's gut just visible through his hospital issue tee-shirt, and the wires threading away from Sam's chest towards the heart monitor. In an unexpected display of affection, one that surprised himself as much as his little brother it seemed, he lifted a hand to gently cup the side of Sam's face.

"You scared the hell out of me, kid," he whispered, unable to hide the tiny tremble in his voice.

Sam's eyes widened slightly but instead of calling him on it, he gave a tiny nod.

"I know, and I'm so sorry. That wasn't my intention."

Dean studied him with a hard look on his face, moisture in his eyes.

"Good," he said after second or two of uncomfortable silence. "Don't you _ever_ do that again. Next time? You call me. You don't try to take on an armed gunman alone."

Sam bit his bottom lip to keep quiet, knew it would serve no purpose to point out that there hadn't been time. That the boy could have died, that Sam didn't _think,_ he'd just _reacted_. And it certainly wouldn't help matters if Sam told him he was pretty positive Dean would have done exactly the same thing.

Which was completely true.

Instead, he reached up and squeezed Dean's hand, fondly.

"Alright, let's go" then he jerked his chin towards the door and grabbed the blanket with the intention of throwing it off. "Time to get out of here before the cops recognise you."

Dean didn't argue. He issued an order instead, one that had Sam riled up the moment the words left his mouth.

"No way. You're staying until that fever drops," he told him, firmly. "I'm not having you pass out on me, or develop blood clots or whatever the hell else."

"Dean, you can't…" Sam began his protest in earnest and tried to sit up, but Dean was having none of it. The older brother easily, but gently, forced him back down again with a hand on his shoulder.

"See? Weak as a kitten, so forget it," said Dean, grinning smugly. "No AMA, no sneaking out, no absconding until you get the all clear. That's final."

He folded his arms as if to add emphasis, and Sam knew he was beaten.

"If the cops see you…" he tried once more, but his brother was already shaking his head.

"_Grandpa_ insisted, and the cops are a little pre-occupied dealing with the gunman," Dean replied, still grinning. "They're also happy to help out the local hero and his brother," he shrugged. "I guess its great positive publicity for their precinct."

Sam stared at him in confusion. "Huh?

His brother sighed. "You're quite the celebrity round here. Even that kid's father took care of your medical expenses." Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam shrugged and looked away, mumbling "S'no big deal."

"Was for that kid and his family," Dean replied, quietly, eyes shining with pride. That Sam was incapable of accepting compliments both amused and irritated the crap out of him at times.

Sam just shrugged again. "What were you saying about _grandpa?_"

Dean smirked and let it go. He'd made his point.

"Some old guy stepped in to help," he told Sam. "Posed as our grandfather, and stopped the Impala being towed, then drove us both to the ER."

Sam chewed on his lower lip for a second. "That was decent of him."

"Turns out, we've met him before," said Dean.

Sam's head shot up at that. "Really? When?"

"Remember the cabins by the lake? Back when we were kids?" asked Dean. "You'd have been, what? Four, maybe nearly five years old?"

Sam frowned, thoughtfully. "Maybe. What of it?"

"Dad took us up there for a hunt, some kid spirit was torching the place," Dean explained to him. "There was a guy restoring the cabins and Dad helped him out. One night, the kid showed up in our cabin and set light to your bed."

Sam blinked. "I remember _something_ about a fire." He glanced up at Dean. "What happened?"

Dean clicked his tongue and looked away.

"I pulled you out of there, the cabin bought it, and Dad took care of Casper the not-so-friendly-arsonist with a cleansing ritual. Fire went out. Ghost was banished. Case closed."

Sam's mouth twitched and he tried to suppress his smile. In spite of his often seriously frustrating bravado, Dean could dish out the compliments but he sure couldn't take them any better than his younger brother.

"Thanks Dean," he whispered. "For saving me. Again."

"Don't be a dick," said Dean, awkwardly patting Sam on the chest. After a brief silence, he cleared his throat and steered the conversation back on track. "So anyway, that guy up at the cabins? _He's_ our grandpa for the day."

Sam huffed out a short, surprised laugh. "Small world, huh?"

"Got that damn straight!" Dean replied, grinning.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention away from Sam and he turned towards a pretty female doctor, poking her head into the room.

"Excuse me, but your grandpa left this for you," she said, blushing shyly under Dean's blatant admiring gaze. She crept into the room and held out a plain, white envelope. "He said he had something to take care of, but he would meet up with you later. Said you'd know where to find him."

If she found it strange that their grandpa has seemingly deserted his injured grandson, the young medic didn't show it.

"Why, thanks for passing that on," said Dean, eyes twinkling with mirth, and took the offered envelope.

Something inside of it jangled dully. Eyes narrowed slightly, he tested the weight and examined it closely. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and though he didn't honestly think it contained anything that would cause he and Sam harm, he wasn't about to chance it.

Instead, he slipped it inside his jacket pocket and smiled boyishly at the doctor.

"So, you busy tonight?" he asked, sensing Sam's amused eye roll and ignoring it. He spied her name tag and whistled. "Bethany. That's a pretty name."

"Uh, thanks," came the tentative reply. "I'm on call tonight, but I get off at 8am."

In Sam's opinion, she looked kind of sweetly hopeful, as were most beautiful women when confronted by the Dean Winchester charm. But Dean wouldn't be around come the next morning. Soon as Sam's fever took a hike, the brothers would be gone, never to return. And besides, Dean was an 'in the moment' kind of guy. Once an offer was refused the lady wouldn't get a second invite.

Sure enough, Dean shrugged and shook his head. "Sorry. No can do. 'Nother time maybe."

Knowing she had been politely but firmly dismissed, Bethany nodded sadly and left the room, muttering something about Sam's next round of meds. She wouldn't be back, Sam knew, and the task would be delegated to another member of staff.

"Damn shame," said Dean, just as the door closed with a soft click. "She's gotta real sweet a…"

"So," Sam murmured, wearily, and rolled his head across the pillow to gaze up at Dean with tired grin. "How many does that make since I got here?"

Dean snorted with laughter. "I've been a little busy worrying about my pain-in-the-ass little brother. Stupid kid went and got himself shot."

"You're right," said Sam, deadpan. "That _is_ pretty stupid."

"Yep," Dean replied. "So Bethany's the first."

"Really?" Sam grinned. "But not the last, huh?"

"That all depends on you," Dean told him. "The longer you have to stay here…" he shrugged, good natured mischief written all over his face.

"Great," said Sam, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, my recovery is now directly responsible for your sex life."

Dean's sudden laughter died out, and he studied the kid closely once again, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and his clammy, alabaster skin.

"Seriously, you take your time, little bro," he said, worriedly. "We're in no rush to move on."

"I'm fine…"

"No," said Dean, firmly. "You're not."

They stared at each other for a long while, all amusement gone.

"So, what's in the envelope?" said Sam, breaking the uncomfortable silence at last.

Taking it back out of his pocket, Dean sniffed it, then held it up to the light.

"Looks like a note," he said, squinting up at it. "And… a key fob?"

Sam frowned. "Why would Ben leave us a set of keys?"

"No idea," said Dean, honestly.

Finally unable to curb his curiosity a moment longer, he ripped it open.

A small, simple wooden key fob fell to the floor with a soft _clunk._

"Huh," Dean picked it up and stared at the shiny silver key dangling from it.

Sam looked from the key to Dean and back again, obviously pondering its significance. "Well?"

"It's for 6b," said Dean, reading aloud from the fob. "That was our cabin."

"I thought you said it was destroyed in the fire," said Sam, frowning again.

"He must've rebuilt it… again," answered Dean and glanced at Sam with a small shrug. "I guess this is where we're meeting up with him."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "We don't have time for a sabbatical, dude. We need to find Dad!"

"You _need_ time to recover, Sam!" Dean snapped back, angrily. "You've been _shot!"_

"I'm more than aware of that," began Sam, sarcastically. "But…"

"No buts!" Dean leaned over Sam, hands fisted in the blankets either side of the kid, gently pinning him down. He glared at Sam, nose only inches from his face, and when he spoke his tone was low and menacing. "We're going up to the cabin and we're staying there until you can move without wincing…"

"Dean…"

"That's my last word on it, Sam!" Dean stood back and folded his arms again, just daring Sam to argue with him.

But Sam wasn't exactly in a position to object because Dean was right.

He _couldn't_ move without wincing. It wouldn't take much to manhandle him into the Impala and, frankly, he wasn't really in the mood to fight Dean on this.

Sam sighed in defeat and nodded tiredly, while his insufferably smug brother grinned and rubbed his hands together.

"That's my boy!"

* * *

_**Final chapter goes up soon, assuming you want it of course...?**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Age of Heroes**

**Chapter Four**

"_**No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.**_

_**Until the clock he wound up, winds down,**_

_**Until the wine she made has finished its ferment,**_

_**Until the crop they planted has been harvested.**_

_**The span of someone's life, they say, is only the core of their existence."**_

Loosely recalled from Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man.

**As you can probably figure out from the quote: **

**tissues needed... but not 'til the end, I promise!**

"You ok?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Sure?"

A cool hand pressed to Sam's forehead, startling him.

"Get off me! I don't have a fever!"

"Just checking, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Such a little bitch when you're injured."

"Oh, and you're the perfect patient, every doctor's dream, right?" Sam regretted it the minute the words left his mouth.

Dean chuckled. "You better believe it. Doctor Bethany sure seemed to think so."

Sam turned his head to glare up at Dean from his wheelchair, ready to point out that _he_ was the patient, not Dean.

But one look was enough to keep him from talking.

Yep, his brother was oozing smugness. Sometimes it just wasn't worth getting into these conversations.

"Forget it," he said and turned back to face the front.

"Aw, Sammy."

Dean wheeled him down the ramp to the parking lot as unobtrusively as he could. It was pure paranoia, Dean was certain, but Sam swore he'd caught a glimpse of a familiar face earlier through the half-open door to his room. He was convinced it was one of the cops from St Louis, and Dean wasn't going to risk arguing in case he was right. Sam's fever had subsided during the night, enough to allow the brothers to skip town, but Dean was keeping a close eye on his little brother's health.

So close, in fact, that every time Sam winced or whimpered in pain, they stopped just so Dean could check him over.

"Oh come on!" Sam huffed in frustration when they halted for the third time. "I didn't do anything and I'm not in any pain!"

Dean rounded the wheelchair and crouched down in front of Sam.

"You're lying," he said after a good, long stare. "This ain't gonna work if you can't be honest with me, dude."

Sam's mouth twisted. "Ok, yes, there's some pain, but nothing I can't handle."

Dean's eyes narrowed but he said nothing, that all knowing gaze telling Sam just what he thought of his claim.

"Alright!" Sam snapped, and huffed again. "It hurts like a sonofabitch, that what you wanna hear, Dean?"

His brother regarded him with no hint of amusement.

"What I _want_ doesn't count for much," said Dean. "But I _need_ to know if you're hurting, Sammy. I can't…" he paused and licked his lips, a sure sign of emotional unrest. "I can't ease your pain unless you tell me. I almost lost you, kiddo…"

Sam's features softened a little.

"Dean, c'mon man," he said, gently touching Dean's shoulder. "I'm doing fine. Great even. Yeah, I'm sore, and tired, and I want to get the hell out of here. But I'm ok. Really."

Dean's eyes searched Sam's face and saw no indication he was lying.

"Alright, let's go," he said, gently threading his hands under Sam's arms.

"Ready? On three. One, two..."

Sam pushed down on the arms of the wheelchair, while Dean lifted him at the same time. Between the two of them, Sam was soon swaying on his feet, face paling rapidly with the abrupt change in height.

"Oh shit..." Sam half-whispered, weakly pawing at Dean, while his knees buckled slightly, losing him a couple of inches on his brother.

"Yeah, I know," Dean assured the kid, wrapping both arms tightly round him and taking his weight. "I gotcha, Sammy. You won't fall, I promise."

Sam's head dropped onto Dean's shoulder. "I know," he said, breathlessly. "You won't let that happen, right?"

"Damn straight I won't," Dean immediately replied with a determined nod. He gave Sam a few seconds to recover first, and then assisted his brother's slow shuffle away from the wheelchair and towards the rear passenger seat of the Impala.

"No... wait!" Sam dug his heels in, forcing Dean to a halt.

"Sammy what is it?" Dean eyed him worriedly. "You ok?"

Sam shook his head, panting a little, and forced the words passed clenched teeth.

"Shotgun," he ground out. "Not the back."

"You'd be more comfortable in the back, dude; you can stretch out more, at least."

Sam shook his head again, puffing through his nose.

"_Shotgun_ is my seat," he replied, and stubbornly refused to budge until Dean agreed to change course.

Dean rolled his eyes and regarded the kid with fond frustration. Sam made your average mule seem compliant once he'd made up his mind about something.

"Ok," he sighed in defeat. "But the journey's a little over four hours, so let me know if you change your mind..."

"I won't."

They shuffled onwards in silence, finally reaching the front passenger seat before the sun decided to set, much to Dean's relief. Holding Sam upright and opening the car door at the same time was a fun challenge he hoped he never had to repeat anytime soon, especially when he could swear he heard the kid stifle a soft whimper of pain. Knowing it would do no good to draw attention to it, Dean bit down on his tongue and began gently pushing Sam inside the car. Once his injured passenger was seated, and clearly uncomfortable by the looks of things, Dean crouched down and raised Sam's feet up to rest on the dashboard.

"Don't get used to it," he warned the kid with a mock frown.

Sam grinned tiredly and closed his eyes, only to open them a second later when he felt a soft blanket being tucked in around him.

"Thanks Dean," he said, softly.

Dean snorted, and grabbed a pillow from the backseat. "Lift your head a little... that's it."

Sam sank his head back down gratefully onto the pillow, noted the smell of antiseptic, and correctly assumed Dean had 'acquired' it from his hospital room.

Exhausted from all the activity, Sam let his eyes drift closed again. The last thing he remembered was the deep, comforting rumble of the Impala and the heart warming scent of his big brother's spicy aftershave.

He was home at last.

* * *

When Sam woke up, he was staring at the car roof and his head was resting on something warm and firm. The pillow was wedged under his neck for support, and his huge sock-clad feet were pressed up against the passenger window, with his knees bent at ninety degree angles, holding them in place.

"_Wha...?_" he blinked, sleepily.

"You slipped sideways 'bout half hour into the journey," said a voice from above and slightly to the rear of Sam's head. "You seemed to sleep better that way, so I left you alone."

Nevertheless, a hand in Sam's hair still hadn't stopped gently stroking his unruly locks. And it felt nice; Sam was a little embarrassed to admit. Reminded him of easier times when they were kids and Dean would comfort him during the dark nights, when their dad was off hunting, leaving them all alone to fend for themselves.

Sam tilted his head back slightly to meet the amused but concerned gaze of his older brother, and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, dude," he rasped out, and shifted with the intention of moving back to his own seat.

"Not a problem, Sammy," said Dean, eyes back on the road again. He coughed lightly, cleared his throat and tried to appear casual and unembarrassed. "You look much more comfortable, so... ya know, don't be a dork, and just stay as you are, huh?"

While driving with his left hand, he used the hand entwined in Sam's hair to gently keep the kid from getting up.

Sam huffed but kept grinning. "Yeah, it is pretty comfortable," he nodded, feeling himself relax again. "All things considered."

Dean quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" he asked, in genuine confusion.

Sam's grin widened.

'Cos, ya know... _goose _feathers make great pillows, dude. Chicken legs however..."

"Shut your hole, bitch!" Dean protested at once. "I've got great legs, and you know it!"

"If you say so, jerk," Sam answered with a chuckle.

"You wanna get out and walk?" Dean threatened him, mouth twitching. "'Cos, dude! You're headin' the right way for it!"

"That's good to know," said Sam, closing his eyes and settling down with a contented sigh. "At least you ain't gettin' us lost. Again."

"When have I _ever _gotten us lost?" his brother demanded to know.

Sam's eyes shot open and he tipped his head back again.

"Magic Mountain, California, just after my sixteenth birthday," he rattled off. "We were supposed to be there for a haunting by two am. Tell me, Dean, where did we _actually _end up?"

There was a brief pause followed by a classic, petulant _Dean_ answer:

"_Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble... "_

Sam cupped a hand to his own ear.

"I'm sorry. Didn't quite catch that?" he gazed innocently up at Dean. "Was that _Lost in the middle of nowhere forty miles east in the opposite direction?"_

"Shutup Sam!" Dean growled.

"I mean, it's a good job I woke up when I did, huh?"

"Hey! First and last time that happened, bro, and that was _six years ago!_"

Sam snorted with laughter and immediately clutched at his gut, groaning in pain.

"You ok?" asked Dean, all joviality gone, and his eyes flittered between the road and his ailing brother. "You want me to pull over?"

Sam shook his head a little. "Nah... It's ok... it'll soon settle down..." he groaned again and winced.

"There's a gas station right up ahead," said Dean, already preparing to pull the car off the road. "I'll check your stitches, and if you're a good boy I might get you some coffee."

Sam immediately perked up_. _

"You're on," he said, and solemnly added: "I promise to behave and be a good boy."

"So fake it's almost unbelievable," Dean rolled his eyes and helped his brother rest against the seat back.

* * *

When the boys finally showed up at the lake, Sam was trying his hardest to stay still. The last dose of Tylenol had worn off, and if he didn't hate the side effects so damn much he'd have begged his brother for morphine around thirty miles ago.

Dean knew, obviously. But they were out of meds, the last of the morphine had been used up months ago on a hunt and the boys hadn't been able to replace it since.

Besides, Sam just wanted to get to their destination so he could sleep in a proper bed.

Judging by the look of the cabins, he was in luck. They looked charmingly rustic, but there were signs of modern amenities, including a satellite dish on each roof, and a cell phone mast sat nearby.

"Wow!" said Dean, eyes sweeping over the lake. "Thing sure have changed up here. Looks like Ben completely overhauled the entire damn place!"

Over all, it looked like the kind of tiny village you might find on a Christmas card but without the snow. It made for an enticing lake retreat.

Surprisingly, though, the little village was virtually empty. No hoards of tourists, or families with screaming kids roamed around the place, just a single fisherman casting his line out over the water. He turned slightly when he heard the car pull up nearby and peered out at the brothers from under an olive green floppy-brimmed hat.

Sam glanced around, not recognising the doc. "Where is everyone? Not like it's out of season, or anything."

Dean waved at their host and grinned widely. "Maybe Ben reserved the whole place just for us." He gently patted his brother on the shoulder. "C'mon out and meet him. Guy's been dying to see you."

Sam nodded but followed Dean out of the car, trying to recall man and place. It _did_ seem kind of familiar, but the memory was distorted almost beyond recognition, like seeing an old and faded photograph under water. And, as Dean observed, things had changed.

Ben put down his fishing rod and strode towards the Impala, eyes twinkling with merriment, and hand already held out in welcome.

"Howdy, boys!" the guy called out, beaming in genuine pleasure and firmly shaking Dean's hand. "Glad you could make it, though I didn't expect you _quite_ so soon."

Dean shot Sam a look. "Yeah, well _someone_ was impatient to leave."

Ben chuckled. "Yeah, I hate hospitals too. S'why I retired first chance I got. But I still practice family medicine occasionally, when the local clinic doctor in town needs extra help."

"So, you live up here permanently now?" asked Dean, curiously.

"In a manner of speaking," answered Ben with a wry grin. "I own this place. Bought it a few months back, found it had fallen into disrepair again, and decided to modernise it a little. As you can see…" his grin widened with pride "I spent way too much time up here! Planning to open the business officially next month, once the on-grounds grocery store's up and running."

On that note, he turned to Sam still holding out his hand, and eyed him critically, taking in his pale face and noting the pain lines around his eyes and mouth with concern.

His hand lingered on Sam's a few seconds longer than it had with Dean, testing the cool clammy skin

"Hmm. I'm guessing you're due another dose of medication, huh?" the old doctor told him, kindly. "Step this way, son. I've got just the stuff."

"The doctors at the hospital already gave me Tylenol," said Sam, shifting slowly from foot to foot as though the action would relieve the throbbing pain in his gut, which was making him feel sicker by the second. "But we ran out. Stuff doesn't seem to last."

"Yeah," Ben nodded and slowly herded Sam over to the nearest cabin. "Cut backs, savings, and new legislation… the medical profession just ain't what it used to be. And then there's godammed health and safety sticking their big noses in where it don't rightly belong either…bad medicine, I call it."

Dean followed the two of them, only half listening to the old guy's ramblings, and nodded along. Mostly, his attention was on Sam, carefully watching the kid in case he keeled over or something.

Just as they got to Ben's cabin Sam let out a strangled gasp of pain and bent forward slightly, stopping in his tracks.

"Sammy?" Dean stepped forward; eyes narrowed with worry, and wrapped an arm round his brother's waist.

"Easy there, big fella," said Ben, rubbing Sam's shoulder soothingly. "Looks like you need to rest up properly, huh? Been a long journey for ya. Tell ya what. You boys head over to your cabin," he pointed to the building a few feet from his own and winked at the older brother. "Get him comfortable, Dean, and I'll bring my bag."

Sam just tried to breathe through the pain as best he could, and clung to Dean as they moved onwards again.

"S-sorry, Dean," Sam eventually whispered, shakily. "I guess it just got too much."

"Not surprising, you stubborn ass," Dean told him with an affectionate grin, arm still locked firmly in place around his brother. "Next time? Take the back seat, huh?"

Sam shook his head, tiredly. "Not a chance."

Dean pursed his mouth but said nothing to that.

When their trudging journey was over, Dean produced the key to cabin 6b and unlocked the door. Not even stopping to look around, he deposited Sam on the furthest bed and helped him remove his jacket and plaid shirt.

"Shit!" Sam hissed, teeth gritted and eyes scrunched shut.

"Easy," said Dean, gently lifting up the kid's tee-shirt. He glanced up at his brother. "No blood. Must be your lucky day."

Sam huffed a laugh and gingerly lay back on the bed. "Makes a change."

"Yeah, well," replied Dean, lifting Sam's feet up and removing his boots. "Don't get use to it. You know good luck ain't our style, bro."

"No kiddin'," Sam turned his head towards the door when he heard a knock.

"How's the patient?" asked Ben, dumping his battered black leather bag down by Sam's bed a second later. He didn't wait for an answer but placed his hand on Sam's forehead.

"You're a little warm, but nothing drastic. Let's take a look at the incision."

Sam closed his eyes, too tired do much else while the doctor checked him over and took his blood pressure.

"All excellent so far," Ben announced a few minutes later. "Now, how do you feel about morphine, Sam?"

Sam breathed out through his nose. "It's not exactly my best friend. Makes me loopy as hell."

Dean snorted. "Great entertainment, though."

Sam cracked open an eye and glared at his brother. "Hilarious, Dean."

"You said it!"

Ben hid a smirk. "Now, now, you two. Seriously though, Sam," he said, turning back to his patient. "It'll just knock you out for a few hours, that's all. Do you the world of good and we'll keep an eye on you."

"Make sure you don't climb up on the roof," said Dean with a grin. "See if you can fly, or somethin'."

Sam laughed and immediately winced. "I think I'll take that morphine now, Ben, before I kill my brother."

"Wise decision," the doctor intoned, smiling.

Hours later, Sam arose to the smell of grilling food and groggily followed his nose outside the cabin. He spied two familiar figures sitting at a picnic table by the lake and headed over, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Sam had slept well, but the lingering effects of the morphine were making him a little unsteady.

Fortunately, the fresh air was gradually clearing his head. Food was the last thing on his mind, but a light meal and some good company seemed like a great idea to Sam.

His brother was tending the food on a large outside grill, sipping a beer and listening intently to the old doctor, when he glanced up at Sam and grinned.

"There's fresh fish, steak, and just for you," he gestured to a large bowl on the picnic table with his tongs. "Your favourite rabbit food."

Sam eyed the crispy green salad as he sat down on the other end of the table, and smiled gratefully. "Thanks Dean."

"How you feeling, son?" Ben asked, and got up to pour something into a large earthenware mug. He handed it over to the youngest Winchester. "Hot ginger, lemon and honey tea. Help settle your gut."

"Thanks. Uh, ok I guess. Tired, but… good," said Sam, honestly and glanced briefly at Dean. "Haven't slept like that in a long time, in fact."

Dean stared pointedly at Sam, but said nothing. Both brothers knew full well why Sam had been dodging sleep the last few months, but discussing it in front of Ben would do no good. Talk of murdered girlfriends would only lead on to conversations they'd rather not have in front of civilians, and quite possibly ruin their entire evening.

The Winchesters rarely got a chance to relax and _not_ talk about hunting, and Dean was determined to keep this evening light for Sam's sake.

Ben's gaze flickered between the brothers during their silent communication and he wondered about it, but Sam smoothly changed the subject.

"So, uh, I wanted to thank you for everything you did for us back at the hospital," he said, awkwardly. "Dean told me all about it. It's not often people are prepared to help out complete strangers."

Ben let it go. Sam wasn't truly his patient, and these boys owed him no explanations. He'd only had a glimpse into the lives of hunters years ago, but it was enough to tell him that these boys would be closed mouthed about the whole thing.

So he kept his questions to himself.

"No need to thank me," he told Sam with a smile. "You did a brave thing for that child."

Ben grinned when Sam ducked his head, face turning crimson.

"Did Dean mention what you guys did for me some years back?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry, but I don't really remember much about it."

"Not surprising," said Ben, admiringly. "You were so young, still a baby really, the both of you. And look at you boys now. A couple of heroes."

Dean remained silent as he turned the steaks over, but his gaze remained fixed on Sam.

"I think that expression's a little strong…" Sam murmured looking uncomfortable, and Dean smirked at him. "Anyone else would've done the same."

"Nonsense," said Ben, abruptly. "And that's the whole point. People might _say_ it, but _not_ everyone _would._"

In the silence that followed, a light breeze blew off the lake, ruffling Sam's hair and bringing with it the scent of spring. Sam glanced down at his mug of tea, lightly fingering the glazed patterns on the side.

Somehow, he didn't think his father would agree with Ben. For all Sam knew, John Winchester still hated him.

After all, his youngest son had been shot, and where was he? Dean had left a message on their dad's voicemail, but heard nothing back. Not even a text.

John hadn't even been there for Dean when his heart was damaged beyond repair, so why should Sam, the rebellious, wayward son, expect anything different from the guy?

A hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, and Sam glanced up at his older brother with watery eyes.

Dean regarded him solemnly, knowing exactly what was going through Sam's mind.

"I know he's proud of you, Sammy," he said, quietly. "_I_ am."

Sam's smile was shaky but grateful, and he swiped at his eyes with a nod.

They all stared out at the sun, hanging low over the lake.

Ben raised his beer bottle in salute.

"To heroism," he announced, softly. "So few truly have it, but maybe one day it will save the world."

* * *

On the far side of the lake, a black truck sat silently in the trees, its occupant watching the brothers with a sad smile. Though he couldn't hear what was being said, it was possible to hazard a guess.

He lifted his hip flask for his own toast, and took a healthy swig.

Without a word, he threw the truck into reverse and hit the road, happy the boys were safe.

For now.

* * *

Two months after the lake resort opened, Benjamin passed away in his sleep with no kin to leave his worldly possessions to.

The resort was partially sold on to other companies, and eventually became another victim of the new millennium recession, which was rather sadly ironic.

What was left over from Ben's estate sank into the usual black hole of such a time, and the cabins, once again, fell into disrepair.

But Ben didn't die entirely destitute.

All he had left was a scraggly twenty year old note in child's hand, and one cabin key enclosed in an plain, brown envelope, alongside a cheap wooden case with... _something_ inside.

It arrived at one of Dean's old PO boxes days later, but Dean didn't actually discover it until long after Cold Oak.

It was addressed to Sam _and_ Dean, and read:

_For cabin 6b, should you ever need it again._

_As for the medals? I don't have any kids to leave these to, but I know they're in good, deserving hands._

_You **both **earned them, probably way more than me and will continue to do so, more than this world can, or will, ever understand._

_Take care of each other, like you always have._

_With love, always,_

_Dr Benjamin McKenna. _

_Your 'Grandfather'._

"Holy shit!" Sam gasped loudly, on opening the little case, and softened his voice with respect, eyes grown moist. "_Holy shit... _Dean, you should _see_ this..."

Dean moved across the room to stare down at the contents over Sam's shoulder, and froze in disbelief.

The something special... the _medals..._

...turned out to be Ben's own Purple Heart, and **Medal of Honor**.

The mark of respect from this gesture alone was phenomenal, and it left both brothers reeling and shaking.

Dean stared unblinking down at the tiny pieces of history. Even his own father had never entrusted him with something like this.

And the line added to the brother's long ago note?

Just by Sammy's faded smiley face was written this...

"True Heroes never blow their own trumpet.

They hide their light under a bushel, and allow the world to dance around in its' modest glow of safety."

_**The End.**_

_**That's all Folks!**_

_**Love and hugs,**_

_**ST xxx**_


End file.
